


when time from time shall set us free

by wintervioleteye (hawkguyed)



Category: In Time (2011), James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bond/Q - Freeform, Character Death, M/M, Sad sad sad, bonnie and clyde - Freeform, exceedingly depressing, in time AU, references everywhere, sort of a crossover, there are no happy endings, this is not a happy fic, tick tock goes the clock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkguyed/pseuds/wintervioleteye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You and me travelin' together, we could cut a path clean across this state and Kansas and Missouri and Oklahoma and everybody'd know about it."</p><p>He's the Clyde to Q's Bonnie and they can go on and on, young and in love with the notion of a revolution. But there are no happy endings for them, not in this lifetime. (In Time AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	when time from time shall set us free

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you rikacain for proofing through this! 
> 
> Character death, no happy endings etc etc. This is a sort of depressing fic, so you have been duly warned.

_Ten_. It starts with a bang. 

\-- 

Bond meets Q on a Saturday, after he wins back the hundred years (plus a thousand more) that he’d bet. The attraction is an almost instantaneous jolt of electricity, sky blue meeting pale green-grey, worlds falling apart as they come together. Q is young, still young and thrilled by the idea of someone as dangerous as James, in love with the notion of romance in the stifled, boring world he’d been trapped in. 

“Come with me,” James whispers after the night is long gone, when Q’s slender body is pressed against his, tangled in the sheets. A hand glides over Q’s spine, stroking the man the way he would a contented cat, and beside him he could almost swear Q purrs. 

“All right.” 

\-- 

_Nine_. One second to respond. One second of silence. One second before he realizes. 

\-- 

Q shoots the Timekeeper on a Monday, after the man had chased them to the old, run-down rooms Bond had been staying in. The sound is as loud as the crack of a whip, and James knows in that instant that they can’t stay here, not with loose-tongued neighbours and an injured Timekeeper knowing where they are. 

“You could leave, you know. You don’t have to stay,” James murmurs against Q’s ear as his hand closes over the still-warm barrel of the gun, lowering it from where Q has it pointed at the Timekeeper’s knee. There’s a warm surge of pride, seeing how calm Q’s features are, and how the gun doesn’t once tremble in his grip. 

Q shifts in the circle of James’ arms, lips brushing against the older man’s. “Why would I?” 

\--

 _Eight_. Red. Red, red as blood. The color of life seeping away, through layers of cloth. 

\--

They rob a Time Bank on a Thursday. 

James carries two guns, but to his credit knocks out the guards that attempt to stop them with the non-business end of his weapon, leaving their prone forms on the floor of the safe as Q hacks their way in, alarms and security systems bowing to the boy genius and his highly modified handheld. 

Q’s laughter is bright and infectious when they liberate the safe and carry everything out. Even James cannot help but mask a slight grin as he empties one of many safe-loads of Time Capsules onto the ground in front of the gaping crowd. 

It takes the crowd a minute and a half of restless murmuring before a child steps forward to take a proffered Capsule. Q simply steps back and watches the legacy his father had built up unravel, Time flowing freely into the streets, but James can still hear hushed whispers about the man behind him, straightening up to meet Q's gaze squarely. 

“Do you regret this?” He has to ask, it's an unsaid question that drifts through his mind every single day, even though Bond thinks he already knows the answer. 

Q shakes his head. They are young and so beautifully in love with the notion of a revolution, and together they believe that they can change the world. 

\-- 

_Seven_. This is not how it should end. Not like this, not here, not on a cold floor of a hall with so much Time around them. 

\-- 

It’s a Tuesday when James realizes that this is his life now. Suits draped over chairs, two guns on a dresser, a stack of blueprints on the floor and a warm body curled up beside him. James drapes an arm over Q - the boy had decided to call himself that when he’d chosen this life on the run - watching him as he sleeps. 

The only light in the room comes from the soft glow of their clocks, the neon-green ticking digits slowly counting down to the inevitable, and Q presses his arm against James’, just for a brief second in reminder before letting it drop. 

This is what they have now, all the time in the world, and yet. 

“It’s not enough,” the murmur is sleepy, the boy’s voice rough from slumber. 

Above him, James manages a chuckle. “The world never is, darling.” 

He gets a smack to the chest for that. 

\-- 

_Six_. The realization hurts more than the bullet. It seems so unfair when they’ve made it this far, managed to do so much only to let things end this way. It seems so unfair that he has to leave Q behind. 

\-- 

The tyre blows out one Sunday morning, when they’re racing down the highway towards Seven. 

While it would be easier to just change cars, they're on an entirely empty stretch of road with nary a vehicle in sight, and eventually they settle for changing the tyre, something that falls to James because while Q is a genius online he hasn’t the faintest idea of how to handle everyday issues like this. 

It’s a stark reminder of how different they are, Bond had grown up being used to a life of hard labour that wrestling with a lug wrench poses no problem to him, and then there’s Q, the delicate thing from a Zone that had been almost out of James’ reach perched cross-legged on the top of the car. 

Not that James will ever call Q delicate. 

Not when the younger man looks up from the maps he’d spread across the hood of the car to fix him with a glance and tells him oh-so-very impertinently, “Do put your back into it, James.” 

\-- 

_Five_. His hand comes up, to grip Q's, pressing their wrists together. There is a realization in Bond’s gaze that he won’t be make it despite the hundred-odd hours still on his clock, and Q’s eyes widen when the numbers on his clock start running again. 

\--

“Honestly, James.” Q sounds disapproving and James smirks. It’s a Wednesday and Bond seems very close to being rather sloshed, brazenly sitting in one of the few underground bars that still maintains the anonymity of their clients. 

“Why not?” The older of the two cocks his head. His brilliantly blue eyes are trained on Q even then, and it’s obvious from the clarity that remains in those eyes that James isn’t drunk at all. Well that would explain the cheek of him, and- 

Q’s train of thought gets derailed by the fingers that reach forward, curling in the fabric of his neat cardigan and tugging. He’s fairly certain that the yelp he lets out is anything but dignified, but then there are lips against his own, lips that taste of wine and whiskey, a bittersweet tang of gun-metal and iron. 

“Is that all you’ve got, old man?” Q’s fingers run over his lips when he finally pulls back. 

James offers a lopsided grin. “Why don’t you find out?” 

\--

 _Four_. There are no happy endings. Maybe for Q, but not for him. There is still so much to be done even though they’ve already toppled a good portion of the system that has kept them segregated for so long, but this time, Q will have to do it alone. 

\--

“I told you to bring the gun back.” Q admonishes when James returns, the other bag of Time Capsules slung over his shoulder with the gun nowhere in sight. They had split up to confuse the Timekeepers after the heist, and James had taken the longer route to get back, obviously running into trouble on the way if the torn sleeve of his suit and obviously missing gun is anything to judge by. 

“I ran into trouble.” The blond at least has the bloody decency to sound chagrined, even if the grin on his face shows that he is anything but. “And the gun has a good heft to it.” 

“God help me if I heard you wrongly, James,” and Q turns around to glare at James. “Tell me you did not use a perfectly still serviceable gun as a blunt club.” 

The peace offering that James makes of the recently liberated Time Capsules make Q throw one right at James’ face. 

\--

 _Three_. “You can’t go.” It’s an order, the muted desperation in Q’s voice, a request that James can’t say yes to this time. He lifts a bloodied hand, tangling it in Q’s hair and streaking brown curls with a ruddy shade of rust, guiding the younger man down to kiss him. 

\-- 

Bond kills a Timekeeper on another Monday. It’s a reminder of the darker side of town where he’d spent a good thirty years of his life, when he lifts the gun and puts a bullet straight through the man’s head without any hesitation whatsoever. 

There is no time to gawk, not when the fallen Timekeeper’s partner is intent on returning the favour, bullets pinging off the metal too closely for comfort. 

“Come on,” he shouts over the sound of the wind howling in their ears, feet pounding as he leads Q over rooftops he’s spent his childhood running over. They have an advantage, if the sound of metal groaning and giving way under a misplaced step behind them is anything to go by, and by the time both of them stop, James is panting and Q is out of breath. 

For the first time he sees fear in Q’s green-grey eyes. 

“There isn’t a happy ending to this, is there?” 

James can only shake his head. He doesn’t want to contemplate the ramifications of this particular train of thought, even though a part of him has already accepted that when this course runs its due there will only be tears. “Fairy tales always have a happy ending, darling.” 

\-- 

_Two_. It’s bittersweet, the way James has always tasted, and Q can almost feel his heart sink. He knows what this is, this unsaid apology. This isn’t what they had planned, this was supposed to be the grandest of their heists, the legend they would leave behind. Not this, never this. 

\-- 

He's half in awe of the building with its carved marble arches, the spire stretching endlessly towards the sun. James whistles in appreciation, replacing his aviators as he studies the target. This one is bigger, much bigger than any of the Time Banks they've hit so far, and it fills James with both anticipation and dread. 

Q must have sensed it, somehow, and there are fingers curling around his, around the gun in his grasp. They've spent a week preparing for this, their grand finale in a series of revolutions. 

"You know," Q grins as they start up the stairs, "Father always told me not to be afraid to dream a little bigger." 

James' answering laugh is a short, sharp bark. 

"I don't think he meant it this way."

\--

 _One_. This is how it ends, in silence with a whispered goodbye. It ends with seven seconds on Bond’s clock, his broken body cradled in Q’s trembling arms and a handful of tears in a pool of blood. 

There are no happy endings to this tale.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from an E.E. Cummings poem, references to Inception and some Skyfall quotes thrown in for good measure.


End file.
